To soothe the ache of his incoming teeth as they break through the sensitive flesh of his gums he teethes on a bone of some unfortunate creature that Arturo has split apart, collecting the bigger bones that do not pose a choking hazard and brought to them. Roarke had claimed the biggest one he saw, pouncing upon it and instantly taking what he could reach of it into his mouth, chewing upon it. His sharp baby teeth find purchase upon the bone and he carries it with him now, dropping it once at the mouth of the king sequoia, dripping with slobber as his mouth waters at the promise of sweet marrow he has discovered by suckling at the bone. It is not as good as Lotte’s sweet mother milk but it provides a nice substitute as they are weaned. Small, salmon pink tongue draws across his jowls to collect the strings of saliva at having carried the bone before he picks it back up and chomps upon it, stepping out into the warmth of the morning, a soft shiver slithering down his spine as the golden rays of the sun caress his pale pelage. The winter’s bane does not venture far — just outside the den knowing that to venture is to earn a reprimand from his mother or father. The tall coywolf follows him, lingering in a sphinx-like position avoiding the sun’s warming rays by hanging in the shade to avoid overheating. Roarke finds a sunny patch of grass and drops his bone before he plops down in an attempt to mimic the older gangster with a lopsided grin that hints at certain mischief. See?, his look says, I can do it too! He lets out a low giggle as he traps the bone beneath his paws and continues his plight of worrying it.

Roarke is content to worry his bone, sharpening his needle sharp baby teeth whilst working to strengthen his jaw. These things are unknown to winter’s bane as he crunches and suckles the sweet marrow from it’s core, peering up at his father every now and then to assure himself that the sinister Ceannasach has not gone anywhere. He retains much better now than he has before and has begun to understand that just because Arturo is no longer in his sight does not mean that he is not in Arturo’s. His head lifts and the bone falls from betwixt his lips as Eirlys shoots from the den. Roarke’s tail slaps against the hard earth like the beat of a war drum, ears perking atop his skull and salmon pink tongue drawing across his jowls. Arturo catches his twin’s attention though and the snowdrop is lost to the fascination of their father. A bit dejected Roarke is about to return to his bone when Molly makes an appearance with a sharp bark.

His dark pelage sister bounds towards him and his butt wiggles despite the low warning growl that erupts unbroken from his throat. He bows his head, lips parted, a single pearly tooth peaking from beneath lifted upper lip. Mine. Roarke is a paradox in that moment — showing possession and ready to spar — er puppy spar anyway — to retain his right to the bone and yet he is undoubtedly happy that Molly is paying attention to him (even if it is for his treasure). He bounds to his paws quickly and lowers himself into a play bow. Spar me for it! He encourages of the first born Lotturo.